A Letter, Unread
by wallyflower
Summary: A letter, uncharacteristically messy and abruptly ended, from the aftermath of a proposal.


A/N. Written years ago (and thus in limbo with regard to canon time); posted unedited, and just because I really felt like posting to show that I aten't dead. Words in parentheses represent erasures.

(A letter, uncharacteristically messy and abruptly ended, from the aftermath of a proposal.)

Dear H,

Please trouble yourself no more with what we discussed the last time we met. It was unfair of me to ask you to make a promise which I am not certain I myself can keep, especially given the imminent danger. It was even more unfair to ask you the question without due consideration to the state of your feelings. It would be a lie to say that I have noticed no diminishing of your feelings in recent months. What you call my astuteness and my attention to detail abandoned me on that account; or perhaps I did not want to let myself see something that would cause any more difficulties in our already tumultuous (relationship) (acquaintance) relationship. In doing so I did both of us a disservice, and for this I apologise as well.

I beg you not to think that my (proposal) question is being retracted because of any change in my own feelings. I assure you, fully aware that the assurance may be unwanted but compelled to give it all the same, that I feel as much for you as I did that day when you allowed me to take you to Spinner's End and the surrounding countryside. I will always remember. You know that I am uncomfortable with words, with the openness of emotions with which you were so (comfortable). However, in consideration of the fact that this is my last opportunity to open myself to ridicule—yours, or perhaps anyone's who might chance upon this letter—I ask you to let me give freer rein to my feelings than I have done in the past.

I am profoundly grateful to you. You used to say that gratitude does not a relationship make, but I believe you and I are both aware that the past year might not have happened as it did without your condescending to tolerate those attributes that I possess which are not, I confess, generally found to be attractive. I cannot speak for the present state of your (feelings) feelings; however, there _was_ a time when you felt enough, more than enough, for me--for you to seek me out, and to pay no heed to my own hurtful remarks, which I now regret with greater force than I have ever done before. You surprised me then by your advances, and while I will not offend either of us by asserting that they were _always_ welcome, I will say that your pursuit led to something which cannot now return but which I will never regret, and will always remember with the greatest fondness. As old as I am I have many recollections, which visit me at all hours of the day. None, however, figure so often in my thoughts as that one day in Spinner's End. As one lover has said before, it taught me to hope--more bravely than I had dared to do in the past.

Given that small seed of misplaced hope I conjured in my mind a future that I now see—as you saw before me—could not come to pass. But I do not regret my hoping. It gave me the energy, the—if you will allow the word—the strength to accomplish several things in the course of my own mission that I might not have been able to achieve without that inspiration. For this I am grateful as well.

Those recollections may now be unpleasant to you, or may prove so in the future; let me assure you that I understand completely and harbour no ill will. All people are allowed to change their minds, most of all you, you who are so young. At your age—and please permit me the condescension—you cannot be certain what you will want for the rest of your life, or even for the long term. The young often make mistakes on which they never look with anything but a disgusted eye, and they can scarcely be blamed for it. I want only to say that I regret nothing—that despite our precarious positions, I would do it all again if I could. That my feelings were, and continue to be, genuine.

I do not mean to extract from you any guilt, for what would be the point of such an exercise? I also recognize that a letter from a former (lover) (paramour) dalliance may inevitably seem to be bitter in spirit. Hermione—my dear Hermione, if you will allow me to call you by that for the last time—I am not bitter. On the contrary, this last year has taught me several things that I would never otherwise have learned, and I emerge, as long-winded, as fond of you and as genuinely grateful for all that you have done as I have ever been.

I recognize that in this war of magic we are both in grave danger, being pawns in a game not of our own devising; I recognize, as I always have, that shuffling off the mortal coil may not be an experience long away. The difference now is that I (realize) face the prospect knowing that I have lived some small part of my life in a way that let me discover for myself why others find this temporary (life) existence so pleasing and hang on to it in so determined a fashion.

I must confess to a small lie. I told you earlier that I had made myself blind to those telltale signs that you no longer feel for me now as you once did. The truth is that I saw, very clearly, each one, each forced kindness and unintentional cruelty. You were not callous but you were at least sincere, for which I remain grateful. Still, I saw the decline of your feelings and I was powerless to stop it. I had hoped that by asking for your hand I could make you (see) (how) (I) understand how I felt, and reignite similar feelings in you. I was mistaken; in trying to keep you close, I succeeded in doing the opposite. And so I am sorry that the (proposal) question was both abrupt and inconsiderate. I wish that I had never put you under that kind of pressure.

Please do what you will, with the jewelry box and its contents. While I do not harbour illusions that you will wear Iit/I now that (everything) (is) (over) (between) (us) we have gone our separate ways, I had bought it for you, and have no intentions of keeping it for myself or giving it to someone else. It remains yours. Please consider it my only gift, and try to attach no unpleasant memories to it. Please—and I say this sincerely, and not out of petulance—please do your best, if it is necessary for your happiness, to forget about everything (that) (I) (will) (remember) about our association. Please be happy.

My last request is that you please try to remain safe. You are invaluable to us all.

S


End file.
